


No Greater Sorrow

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Dark, Hell, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Non Consensual, One Shot, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sexual Violence, Torture, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastair tries a new tactic for getting through to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Greater Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Non-con (implied father/son incest) and dark imagery/torture references. Nothing terribly explicit.

The ground beneath Dean’s bare feet writhed and smoldered. Caustic sulfur in the air was a blessing. It helped mask the stench of the eternally roasting flesh and the bile inducing sizzling of hair. Not his, not anyone’s. None of this was real.

Mangled screaming corpses beneath him, above him, all around him weren’t really flesh and blood. His own body was rotting somewhere topside. Still he felt every nick and strike with a greater intensity than if this was physical. There were no nerves to sever, no limit on the pain. No blissful release of shock or unconsciousness. Not even the hope of death.

So screw Alastair and his crappy excuse for a deal. Picking up the razor wouldn’t stop the pain that mattered. It was what the sorry bastard didn’t understand, could never understand. The physical pain was his only release. It let him forget, consumed him so he couldn’t remember what he’d left behind.

His head jerked up as the chain attached to hook gouged through his right wrist shook. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him, but how little it hurt. Compared to most of Alastair’s wake up calls it was obscenely polite.

“Sorry.”

That simple, now unfamiliar word was the most shocking thing he’d heard in what felt like centuries. The voice was gruff, familiar. Impossible.

“Keep quiet, son. I’m getting you down from there.”

The chains at Dean’s wrists went slack. He would have fallen forward onto the grappling flesh below if not for the strong hand that steadied him. Slowly he looked to his side, staring in disbelief. It wasn’t Alastair supporting him.

“Dad?”

With careful, smooth movements Dad worked the grappling hooks from his wrists. He couldn’t bleed to death here and it wasn’t the pain from the manipulation of the hot metal that he noticed. It was the complete absence of pain. Nearly the instant the hooks were slipped free from the gaping wounds the flesh healed over.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Every instinct told him to run, to get Dad away from here, but there was nowhere to run. No way this was real. When Dad pulled him into his arms he didn’t move, couldn’t react. He only stood frozen as he was drawn into the desperate embrace. It reached in far deeper than Alastair’s razor ever could.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt something aside from pain and despair. That tentative hope of release was too good to be true, but he needed it to be real. He clung to it with every bit of his soul that remained.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” Dad said.

Dean pulled just far enough away to meet Dad’s eyes. “What? How?”

“Sam. He figured something out. Got a message through the veil. Your brother always was as damn stubborn as they come.”

“No.” Fear again washed over Dean, but this time it wasn’t fear for himself. “He’ll try to make a trade. Dad, you can’t let him.”

“No trade. He’ll be safe. We all will.”

Dean’s hands ran over the now perfect skin of his wrists. His head shook in denial. “You can’t be here. You got out...you...”

“Is that what you think?” Dad’s eyes narrowed, his tone darkening. “You think I clawed out of hell and got to float up to heaven?”

“I don’t know, Dad...I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Damn right you don’t!”

The fist cracked against Dean’s jaw before he even realized that Dad had lashed out. Stumbling to the side, Dean clutched his cheek. While the throbbing physical pain was nothing compared to having his liver dissected daily, the remains of his soul shattered on impact.

When he forced himself to look up Dad’s eyes flickered to black. Dean took a startled step back and a twisted smile danced over his father’s lips.

“You did this, Dean.”

“No...”

Dean continued to move back, but the thing that had been his father just moved in all the faster. By the time he spoke again, Dad had shoved him against a rack. Instinctively Dean shrunk back at the angry disapproval in the eyes that held him pinned.

“I sacrificed my soul to save your worthless life.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

“You turned me into one of them – into one of the things that killed your mother and you’re ‘sorry’?” Dean didn’t try to block the fist as it again crushed against his face. “You always were worthless. All you ever were was a babysitter. I needed someone to protect Sam and when he was grown...you know the only reason I kept you around?”

“You’re not him.”

Desperate for an escape, Dean tried to slip past his father but Dad grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back against the rack.

“Wrong again.”

Two rapid fired punches had Dean sinking to his knees. He didn’t fall. The familiar grip of hot chains lashed around his arms held him in place. Struggling against the restraints was useless, that lesson had been beaten into him long ago. His pained gaze locked helplessly with the black pits where his father’s eyes should be.

“A damn monkey could’ve done your job and it would’ve done it better.” Dad leaned in unnervingly close. His stubble scratched against Dean’s cheek, lips resting against Dean’s ear. “But it wouldn’t have had your fine ass.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, willing himself to un-hear the words. All attempts at denial failed when Dad’s hand shoved down between Dean’s bound thighs. He screwed his eyes closed wanting to open them again and see anyone aside from his father before him. Never did he think he’d pray for the burn of Alastair’s razor, but he was praying now.

“Don’t,” Dean gasped. “Dad, please.”

His father’s eyes flickered back to the human eyes Dean remembered. “I’ve been waiting twenty years for this.”

When Dad’s hand clutched his soft cock, Dean arched back into the rack. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d struggled to escape. Now he was ready to tear his own arms off to get down and away from the firm hands groping him. His father’s hands.

“I would have dumped you on the streets long ago if it wasn’t for those big, stupid doe eyes.”

In the next instant Dad was behind him. Unforgiving fingers reached around to twist one of his nipples hard while the other pumped his forming erection. He couldn’t even stop his worthless soul from getting a hard on in his father’s hand. Dad was right. There was nothing of himself worth salvaging. Fighting was useless. He was useless.

“You always were,” Dad confirmed as if hearing his thoughts. “You were too busy damning yourself to hell to even keep Sam alive. Lilith incinerated him. Ruby could have saved him, but he was stupid enough to listen to you. How is it that I gave you one job and you couldn’t even manage that?”

“No. Sam's okay. He...”

Dean’s sentence dissolved into a scream as his father forced into him. Alastair had shoved his damn razor up there more times than Dean could count. That blade had never tore so completely into his soul as his father’s angry thrusts.

“Sam’s dead. Not in heaven, not in hell. Lilith annihilated your brother’s soul.” Each hate filled sentence gouged deeper, cutting away the few remnants of his broken soul. “You, me. We’re all that’s left. Congratulations Dean. You managed to fuck over your entire goddamn family.”

As his father released inside him, Dean collapsed forward. The chains holding him vanished and he was left kneeling on the wriggling mounds of deformed flesh. Hollow wails again tore at his eardrums, sulfur blistering his nostrils.

The pain was back and he didn’t care. Sweat and blood mingled with salty tears, but Dean could feel none of it. Not fear, not hate or sadness and never again hope. There was just a gaping chasm inside him darker and deeper than the one that surrounded him.

A pair of feet approached confidently over the expanse of flesh and jagged bones. Slowly Dean looked up with empty eyes. Alastair stood over him, idly running his hand along the razor’s edge. The bloodstained steel moved down to caress his moist cheek. Dean leaned into the blade, pulling the corner of Alastair’s lips into a satisfied grin.

“Son, do I have a deal for you...”


End file.
